the first time they meet
by Ju5t An0th3r H3d63h06
Summary: /...she's sixteen and he's sixteen and a half and they can't stand each other./ In which Silver and Lyra insult each other mercilessly to avoid falling in love, but it doesn't work. Partially AU, Soulsilver, oneshot. Prizefic for KittyKatLovesBooks.


**A/N: Exhibit A of why you should never enter one of my contests: Because the prizefics always get written horrendously late.**

**Kitty-chan, I am so sorry. Not only is this crappy because I was having one of those weeks where everything I wrote turned into crap, but after Sandy hit, I kind of lost track of this for a while in the ensuing chaos of no longer having power. And then I had to rewrite the ending three times because I hated it. And…yeah, shutting up now.**

**Disclaimer: Two words for you. FAN. FICTION.**

**EDIT: OK FANFICTION IS AN IDIOT. HOW DARE YOU DELETE MY LINEBREAKERS.**

* * *

it's a love hate relationship  
you say you can't handle it  
but it's too late to close your mouth  
so shut up and kiss me

~orianthi, shut up and kiss me

* * *

the first time they meet

* * *

The first time they meet, she is sixteen and he is sixteen and a half and they can't stand each other.

* * *

"Who're you?"

"Who're _you_?"

"I asked first."

"Fine. I'm Lyra. I'm here for a Pokémon. Your turn."

"Nah, don't think so."

"Whatever, shorty. I can call you that, right?"

"No."

"I don't care."

"Isn't it usually the kids who come here to start their Pokémon journeys?"

"Yeah? So what? I'm a late bloomer."

"That's for sure…"

"Shut the hell up."

"Oh, you heard that?"

"What do you think, shorty?"

"I don't know, weird hat girl."

"I'M NOT A WEIRD HAT GIRL!"

"Yeah? Well, I'm not a shorty. I'm your height. Get in line, weird hat girl."

Thankfully, Professor Elm enters the lab at that moment and unknowingly prevents a murder. (It remains unclear who would have murdered who.)

* * *

The second time they meet, she's still sixteen and he's still sixteen and a half and they still can't stand each other.

* * *

"Y-you!"

"Yeah. Me. What?"

"D-don't tell me…the professor sent the shorty on a Pokémon journey?"

"He needs data for his Pokédex."

"Psh, I bet…He already has me, what does he need YOU for?"

"Simple. He can't trust you as a reliable source of data."

"YOU'RE SUCH A-"

Later, as they set up a temporary campsite on Route 2, she glumly remarks that they're probably the first two people ever to be kicked out of and subsequently banned from Cherrygrove's Pokémon Center. "No thanks to you," he mutters under his breath, sparking another argument and causing her to storm off in a huff.

* * *

The third time they meet, it's via a grainy Pokémon Center video chat.

* * *

"My first video call from anyone besides my mom, and it's from you?"

"Wow, you really don't have a life. Or friends."

She glares. "Listen, shorty. My first Gym Battle's in an hour. Is there any reason for this call that doesn't involve making fun of me?"

He scowls. "The old man wants us to exchange numbers."

She expresses her disdain for this idea with a mix of printable and unprintable words. In retaliation, he records her number under the moniker "Weird Hat Girl."

* * *

The fourth time they meet, they manage to have a civil conversation.

* * *

"Hey, shorty. Still pretending you're not enjoying the Trainer life?"

"Hi, weird hat girl. Still getting kicked out of Pokémon Centers?"

"I drop an expletive once, and I never hear the end of it…"

They sit on the bench in National Park and talk. (read: she rants about everything under the sun, he listens and snarks occasionally.)

"…And then I go to the Flower Shop because hey, maybe I can get rid of that annoying Sudowoodo that's blocking the path to Ecruteak, and she says it's too _dangerous_ for me to have a watering can unless I can beat that annoying bubbleheaded Gym Leader!"

"…It's a _watering can._"

"_Exactly."_

She throws her hands into the air in exasperation, annoyance clearly visible on her face. He watches this display with the quirk of a smile barely visible on his face.

"What?" she demands, noticing him noticing her. "Do I have a bug on my face or something?"

"Yes," he replies, deadpan. "It's an Ariados."

She shrieks in girlish terror before realizing belatedly that an Ariados is much too big to fit on her face, effectively ending the civil conversation.

* * *

They start actually using their shiny new Pokégears.

* * *

At first, it's just to leave messages in deadly-serious tones, hoping to publicly embarrass the recipient.

* * *

"Lyra, I sincerely hope that the surgery to remove the Ariados from your face went well. I'll visit you in the hospital later."

"Silver, I was so sorry to hear that your Complete and Total Jerk Disease was incurable. I'll bring you a slice of freshly baked humble pie next time I visit you."

"Lyra, I regret to inform you that I must decline your invitation because I'm afraid n00b-sickness is contagious."

"Silver, I appreciate your concern for me, but I believe that someone with Chronic Idiocy should stay locked in a small room to avoid aggravating their condition."

By now, they're both used to the weird looks they get from passerby.

* * *

Pretty soon, that evolves into legitimate phone calls.

* * *

"Hiya, Silvie!"

"…That's worse than 'shorty'."

"Is it? Good."

"I have an extra watering can here, but I'm not sure you're qualified to handle it. It's dangerous."

"Screw you."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"IT WASN'T MEANT AS A *censored* COMPLIMENT!"

Normal people have conversations. They have yelling matches.

* * *

She starts thinking about him.

* * *

Pryce's Gym is freezing, predictably. The Ice-type Gym Leader is down to his last Pokémon—a Lapras with a menacing glint in its eye—but so is she. Meganium's strength has been gradually draining from the time she tossed its Poké Ball, and the powerful Ice Beams the Lapras is flinging haven't helped any. A wave of panic rushes through her as she sees the blue Pokémon summon a hailstorm with one fluid motion of its head. This is exactly the type of thing Silver had warned her about, getting caught in a corner with no way out—

* * *

"_You're challenging Pryce next, right?"_

"_Yup!" _

"…_Please tell me you don't plan to use your Meganium against an Ice-type Leader."_

"_Well, why not? He's got a lot of combination Water-types too, so Mega-chan will be really useful…plus she's my strongest Pokémon."_

"_Your flowery dinosaur will sink with one hit."_

"_MEGA-CHAN is a lot tougher than that, thanks very much."_

"_Then teach it some type of defensive move. Toughness doesn't do much if you don't use it."_

(She scowled, but had secretly started training Meganium in defensive combinations. The Grass-type mercilessly made fun of her about it, even after she explained, in a voice that terrified the Lake of Rage's Pidgey population, that she was doing it "ONLY BECAUSE IT MAKES SENSE AND DEFINITELY NOT BECAUSE HE SAID SO.")

* * *

She shakes off the memory and dimly wonders why she's thinking of him as she calls out a command:

"Mega-chan! Protect-Light Screen combo, now!"

Meganium roars and starts to fling up a golden-chartreuse shield.

* * *

She holds her breath.

* * *

Lapras attacks.

* * *

The Blizzard hits the half-formed Protect shield, and there's a massive explosion.

* * *

She is flung backwards into the icy wall, almost blacking out from the force of the blow. Through the spots threatening to engulf her, she notices that Meganium is the only one of the four—Pokémon or human—that is still standing.

She pins the Glacier Badge to her shirt and, when Pryce mentions that he's never seen a combo quite like that, gives credit where credit is due.

* * *

He starts thinking about her.

* * *

"What do you consider Pokémon?" asks the old man who's just kicked the collective asses of his whole team with only a Dragonite, and he considers telling the guy to fuck off until he remembers her words a few days ago.

* * *

"_Do you…believe in your Pokémon?"_

"_What the hell type of question is that?"_

"_If you believe in your Pokémon and trust in them to give it their all, they reward you by doing their best in battle."_

"_Congratulations. You came up with something profound all by yourself."_

"_I'm not the one who's stuck with a Golbat."_

(He scoffed, but had quietly started to treat his Pokémon better because—what the hell, maybe she was right. She grinned like a Gengar when she saw his Crobat hovering behind him on video chat. "STOP SMIRKING," he snarled, and her grin widened. )

* * *

He shakes off the memory and refuses to wonder why he's thinking of her as he answers the question:

"Friends."

The old man's eyes flash with something similar to recognition, and he silently hands the burgundy-haired teen a Pokémon Egg. When the Dratini hatches a few days later, he tries not to be annoyed that its favorite place is the top of his head.

* * *

Their next meeting is all parts awkward. Denial will do that to a person.

* * *

"Hi."

"Hey."

"You're tall," she blurts, wondering when this happened.

"You shrank," he deadpans back, noticing that he is, in fact, half a foot taller than her.

She laughs. The awkwardness dissipates a tiny bit.

"It's weird having to look up at you to talk," she says as she falls back into the grass. (She's supposed to be training for her upcoming match against Clair, but lying on a grassy riverbank on the Mountain Path and doing nothing at all is much more fun.)

He shrugs noncommittally, copying her without realizing it. "That was me eight months ago." (He's out here to look for new Pokémon, trying desperately to ignore the fact that his Pokédex seems to be almost full and he will soon have to end his journey.)

"It's still weird, though."

"So, does this mean I can call _you_ shorty now?"

"Not on your life, Silvie."

She traces clouds in the sky for a while with her finger, and he wonders what she sees.

"You ditched the hat," he notes after a while.

"Yep." She nods, dropping her hand back to the grass.

He raises an eyebrow. "Any particular reason?"

She shrugs noncommittally. "It _was _kind of weird-looking."

They retreat into their own separate worlds for a while. He closes his eyes and ignores the autumn breeze mussing his dark red hair; she scoops up a handful of dandelions and starts braiding the weed-flower hybrids into chains.

He glances sideways at her after a while. Chocolate curls frame her face and her eyes are alight with something like childish glee and in the sunlight she looks almost—

…what the fuck. He closes his eyes again and mentally yells creatively inventive swears (including a few she taught him) at his malfunctioning olfactory receptors.

She finishes her dandelion bracelet and sneakily starts braiding one of the yellow weed-flowers into his bangs. His hair is soft, unlike his demeanor, and it's kind of disconcerting to be this close to him because he kind of looks—

…do not finish that sentence. She braids faster to distract her traitorous brain and accidentally tugs too hard on a burgundy lock.

"Shit," she breathes, a second before he flicks open eyes the color of steel.

* * *

Time stops.

* * *

"This isn't what it looks like, I swear," she blurts as soon as she regains the ability to talk, two seconds later. "I was just trying to braid a flower into your hair as a prank, because it would be hilarious for you to challenge some Trainer and wonder why they were looking at you weird, and-"

"Lyra," he says, and she stops and looks up at him.

"What?"

"Shut up."

And then he kisses her.

* * *

(WHY DID YOU JUST DO THAT YOU MORON is the only thought going through his brain. That, at least, is more coherent than her thoughts, which are a jumble of asdfgjjh;kfjkjfjak;.)

* * *

The next time they meet, anything can happen.

* * *

But it's not the next time. It's this time, right here and right now. And even though this might ruin their tentative love-hate relationship, and she might lose her focus tomorrow and get her butt kicked in her Gym battle with Clair, and he might never find the elusive Ho-Oh or Lugia in order to complete the Pokédex, and their Pokémon are probably closet-shipping them and slapping high fives (or high paws, whatever) in the background, neither Silver nor Lyra can bring themselves to care.

* * *

Fin.


End file.
